


greet the unexpected

by Kalgalen



Series: this home we built [1]
Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: (A Whole Lot Of Those), (With Mixed Results), Character Study, Families of Choice, Gen, M/M, The SI-5 Dealing With Feelings Their Own Way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 17:09:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13686078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalgalen/pseuds/Kalgalen
Summary: In which there's a roadtrip, a country radio channel, and previously unsuspected talents.





	greet the unexpected

The trip is long from Cape Canaveral to their destination - about thirteen hours according to his most optimistic estimation, and that’s without taking into account the obligatory breaks. The journey west alone will take them a day and a half. Taking the plane would have been much more efficient in his opinion - a mere four hours - but Cutter had insisted on them driving there ( _"Can't have a paper trail tracing Goddard back to this operation,"_ he had explained - although Kepler strongly suspects that this is a “Marcus Cutter” mission, not a “Goddard Futuristics” one - and, when Kepler had suggested buying the plane tickets from his own pocket to spare himself the inconvenience, Cutter had tutted: _"And miss an occasion to do some team-bonding?"_

One does not argue with Mister Cutter if one still has a reason to live.)

Long story short (ha), they are well into the sixth hour of their trip and no one has said a word since their last stop at a gas station an hour ago. Kepler isn't complaining about the silence, but he is bored out of his mind. His only attempt at launching a game of Questions Only had been met by polite refusal (Maxwell) and a categorical "no" (Jacobi.) Maxwell is currently wrapped up in her own world, headphones on and typing away on her phone; meanwhile Jacobi is staring out the window, sulking ever since Kepler has rejected his choice of radio station - if he has to live through this, he's going to do it on his own terms.

The station he ended up picking mostly broadcasts country songs - he’s not sure he stopped on that one for want of anything better, or because of some ill-advised sliver of nostalgia. Most of the songs he’s never heard before but finds pleasant enough; the others he hasn’t listened to in years, but recognizes like long-lost friends. He catches himself drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and forcefully clamp them down, willing them to stay still. It works, for a bit - until it doesn’t anymore.

Months Of Old Times comes up on the radio, and each note tugs him back to a summer - twenty, twenty-two years ago, two steps away from the opportunity of a lifetime - spent humming along this very song, muttering it under his breath or yelling it full force in an empty parking lot at two A.M. with the futile hope that if he shouted at the world loud enough, the world would answer and explain itself.

(Twenty-something Warren could have used his older self's poise.)

Point is, he remembers the lyrics perfectly, burned as they are in his memories. He doesn't realize what he's doing, at first; just notices Jacobi shifting in his seat in his peripheral vision, notices the way he stares right at him. Kepler sighs and stops singing to ask him what is _wrong now_ -

He freezes before he can get a word out.

He stopped singing.

Bracing for the inevitable comment, he asks: "Is something the matter, Mister Jacobi?"

When he glances at him, Jacobi looks at Kepler like he just revealed he's been an alien all along. Another glance in the rearview mirror confirms that whatever happened, Maxwell witnessed it too. Her headphones have slipped around her neck and her eyes are round and wide behind her glasses; it would be funny if the situation wasn't potentially humiliating for him.

"You were singing," Jacobi says slowly, as if tiptoeing around a particularly unstable bomb.

"No, I wasn't," Kepler answers immediately. Can he blame it on car drowsiness and their own imagination? He's certainly going to try.

"You were! You totally were," Maxwell says, just as Jacobi asks incredulously: "You can _sing?_ "

He actually sounds - breathless, a little awe-struck, and Kepler would use that weakness to divert the attention from himself if he wasn't feeling a bit flustered as well. He keeps his eyes locked on the road ahead and tries to mold his voice into its usual relaxed cadence.

"Everybody can sing."

"Not like this, they can't," Jacobi mumbles, and _that's_ an opening Kepler can use.

"Jealous?" he asks, and Jacobi snorts.

"Ha! No, not really." (It's a lie.) "I guess we should've expected it, given your _thing_ for Shakespeare and drama. You were a theatre nerd!"

Kepler smiles, but there's an edge to his next words:

"Don't push it, Jacobi."

Jacobi obviously very much wants to do exactly that, but as always, Maxwell saves him from himself.

"Where did you learn to sing, then? Sir?"

He considers the question for a moment, debates feeding them some long-winded tale about fake opera singers in Russia, and settles for the truth - for once.

"Never did. There isn't really any point in improving that particular skill."

"You could do it for, oh, I don't know, fun?" Jacobi ventures, and Kepler knows he isn’t purposefully trying to sound sarcastic - not this time - but he still shoots his subordinate a warning glare.

“ _Jacobi._ ”

The man raises his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright! It’s just- Seems like a waste. You’ve got a nice voice.”

He says it quickly, as if he didn’t think before speaking, and the heavy pause that follows lets Kepler know Jacobi is immediately kicking himself for it. Once again, Maxwell flies to his help.

“Sir, if you want, I can hook my music player to the radio? We can find more songs you can sing along to.”

He gives her a cold look through the rearview mirror, but she looks earnest, which is why his answer is only somewhat dry.

“Thanks, I’ll pass.”

She hums and stuffs her player back in her coat pocket.

“Well, if you ever want to- you know. Sing again. We wouldn’t mind.”

He wants to sound dismissal, but-

“I’ll keep that in mind, Doctor Maxwell.”

-it comes out more genuine than he expected.


End file.
